The Ties That Bind
by Potter47
Summary: Sometimes remembering yesterday is better than pretending it never existed.


The Ties That Bind  
_Potter47 _

Lily sat by the edge of the lake, watching the water. She held in her lap a basket, filled with food, and plates, and a blanket, feeling more like a Muggle-born than she had all year. It was springtime, and she wanted to have a picnic—she'd always had one, on the first of April, with Petunia, but now Lily was alone and Petunia was miles and miles away. Lily didn't like being alone, and it was even worse to be alone on a picnic.

She took a breath and looked away from the water, but her gaze fell on a patch of petunias, and that didn't really help her feel very much better.

Finally, she set herself on opening the picnic basket, and removing its contents. She unfolded the blanket and sat on it, took out a plate and a sandwich and a flask of tea—it was tepid, but she didn't really mind.

Taking a bite of her sandwich, Lily looked back at the water. She felt almost silly, sitting here, eating all by herself... but she didn't move to get up, and part of her liked the seclusion.

She ate in silence, but for the soft, soothing wind that blew her red hair from her face.

—— 

Ginny sat by the edge of the lake, watching the water. It was April Fools' Day today, and the twins had been trying to get a hold of her all day long. She wished they would stop, but they never would—it was their birthday, after all.

The water was unnervingly still, which seemed somehow wrong, considering the sharp wind that bit at her skin—it was warm, yes, but the wind was stronger than she had felt it in a long time. Part of her liked the nippiness.

She gazed into the clear blue surface for a long while, and she found herself wishing, not for the first time, that she had her diary to write in. Tom always helped her feel better when she was lonely... but she had thrown it away, weeks ago; an action she had since regretted every day. What if _he _found out all of her secrets, everything she'd told Tom? She simply die of embarrassment...

Ginny shivered suddenly, and wrapped her arms round her chest.

But she couldn't do anything about that now. Letting out a breath, Ginny stood and walked away from the lake, wind blowing in her face.

——

Lily plopped herself down on the grass before the lake, picnic basket in hand. She didn't know why she was here again—part of her, she reckoned, had somehow enjoyed the excursion in her first year: that would explain _last _year's at least. But why did she come back again this year? She didn't know, but she was—a lone third-year, eating a sandwich by the lake, on the first of April.

She looked across the lake and watched the reflection of the sun on the glossy surface; watched her own reflection watch the sun's.

In a moment, however, she saw not only the sun's reflection and her own, but a third—the reflection of fellow Gryffindor third year, James Potter.

Lily took a bite of her sandwich and furrowed her brow, trying not to give away that she saw him. She glanced back at his reflection—he was grinning madly, positive that he'd be able to surprise her, or whatever he was attempting to do.

Goodness, if he wasn't a slow sneaker-upper.

Finally, he was just behind her, and Lily put on her most stern face.

She spoke as he leaned over her: "Boo."

He fell over backwards in surprise, landing in a heap on the ground. She smirked.

"Heavens, Evans!" he said, sounding flabbergasted. "How'd you see me coming?"

She looked at him evenly, and then glanced down at the water. "You really don't know?" she asked.

"Oh," he said, and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly for a moment.

Silence, but for the wind.

"You know," he said, "you ruined my whole plan. It's April Fools' Day and I came up with this really great scheme—"

She glared at him. "Oh, I didn't know you cared," said Lily wryly.

"What?" he said, bewildered.

"Never mind."

He furrowed his brow, contemplating. "You're weird, Evans."

"So are you, Potter. What kind of prankster tells someone that 'they ruined their plan'? A real prankster would have improvised."

"Oh, really?" he said. "And who do _you _know that's a _real _prankster?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like I'd tell you."

Lily stood, and gathered up her things, and began to walk towards the castle.

"Wait."

She stopped walking for a minute, and looked back. She quirked an eyebrow.

"Who?" said James.

"Are you deaf?"

He hesitated a moment before grinning, cupping a hand round his ear, and saying theatrically, "What?"

"Augh," she said, tired of his presence. "Leave me alone."

"Fine, Evans." And he hung back as she walked off into the wind.

——

Ginny was lying down on the grass, just by the lake. Her eyes were closed and the breeze blew her hair round her face in what would have been a distracting manner, if only she were to pay attention to it.

She was forgetting, and that was one of her favourite hobbies. She loved to sit back—or _lay _back, as the case may be—and just try to forget everything about herself, about her life, about two years ago, about everything. But she wasn't trying to remember nothing—to forget everything and to remember nothing are two entirely different things, as Ginny could tell you if you were to ask.

Ginny watched the little squiggly lines that appear when you close your eyes—the ones that you just can never really see—and tried to concentrate on just listening to her own breath—_iiiiiiiiiiiin...ooooooooooout. _

...iiiiiiiiiiiin...ooooooooooout.

It worked for a long time. Ginny had faded away into the insides of her eyelids, chasing nameless squiggles to the rhythm of her breathing.

...iiiiiiiiiiiin...ooooooooooout.

Occasionally, though she never noticed it, people wandered by her, some even trying to talk to her, to ask her a question. Colin Creevey came and went, talking and talking to her and never even noticing that she didn't respond—if she had, it probably would have been negatively; Colin had been one of the Muggle-borns, one of _the _Muggle-borns, and that was the last thing she like to think of when she was forgetting.

After a time, Ginny heard a thud beside her, and she lost the squiggles; her breath was no longer in tune.

"Hello, Luna," she said without looking. Only Luna would actually come and sit down beside her, not saying a word. She had done it before, as she'd told Ginny afterward, but usually Ginny didn't notice.

Luna, however, did not reply—quite simply because Luna was not there.

"Who's Luna?" said a male voice, sounding almost surprised that she was there—as if he hadn't noticed her.

"Harry?" said Ginny, sitting up with wide eyes and red cheeks. "What are you doing here?"

Harry looked as though he wanted to ask the same of her, but he did not; instead, he said, "Looking at the lake."

"But you were laying down," said Ginny, unable to reason why she was talking, _how _she was talking_, to him._ She never could talk in front of him.

He looked at her oddly. "How did you...your eyes were closed."

She blinked. "Oh," she said, blushing some more for good measure. "I'll, uh, leave you to it then."

And she stood, straightening out her robes. She began to walk away—

"Wait."

She stopped walking for a minute, and looked back. He quirked an eyebrow.

"What were _you_ doing out here?" he inquired, and she wondered if he realised that he didn't care.

"Forgetting," said Ginny, and he looked as though perhaps he did think he cared: he at least seemed to be trying to figure out what she meant by that.

——

The first of April, and Lily walked with her basket to her place by the lake.

She had nearly reached it when an unexpected gust of wind suddenly blew her off her feet—in all her time, she would only once more feel something so sudden and so strong, but that wasn't until seventh year.

To her dismay, the wind had taken the basket from her grasp and sent it into the water of the lake. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have been a problem—she could always just levitate it back, dry it off, and forget the wind had ever blown so errantly. But today was different.

It was the first of April, her picnic day. She never had used magic on the first of April, and she didn't want to. She didn't really know why; it just seemed wrong. Her picnics were Muggle picnics, and she did not want that to change.

So she settled herself to wade out into the water and retrieve the basket the Muggle way. She removed her shoes, and her robe, and only just remembered to remove her wristwatch, before the cold water consumed her flesh.

Shivering, she remembered ironically that it _was _only the first of April. It was too late now, however, and she took a step farther into the icy cold.

The basket had blown far from the shore—probably a good thirty feet, Lily reckoned, and you always do seem to move so dreadfully slowly underwater.

Her foot caught on something and her head dunked under the water—her eyes were open, for she had no chance to close them, and her eyeballs felt frozen yet alive. Gasping for air, she surfaced to the sound of laughter.

Coughing out a mouthful of lake water, she glared disdainfully at the three laughing boys that stood at the edge of the water.

"Hello, Remus," she said to the fourth boy, ignoring the other three—Remus had been the only one not to laugh. He was a half-blood, and identified with her more than the others did—he didn't talk to her very much, but he never made fun of her either.

"What, I don't get a greeting?" said Potter, the Leader of the Idiots, as Lily had dubbed him sometime last year.

Lily craned her neck, trying dreadfully to appear dignified. "Did someone say something? I could have sworn I heard a voice...?"

"Oh no! You're deaf too?" said Potter—Pettigrew and Black laughed hysterically, though Lily suspected they didn't get the joke.

Lily frowned, sick of their distant company already. "Will you mind attempting to be witty a bit later on? I'm busy at the moment."

Pettigrew laughed still, and Black put up a hand to silence him. The small boy looked sheepish and apologetic, though he didn't seem to know why.

Potter looked at Lily a long time, and she shivered under his gaze—though she would always insist to herself that it was the water, and it may well have been.

Then he looked out at the basket. He looked back at her, and after a great deal of deliberation, appeared to put two and two together.

He took off his shoes and shrugged off his robe, and his friends appeared beyond mystified—even Remus. He began to wade into the water, and he soon had reached where Lily was.

"I'll get it," he said, and Lily peered at him suspiciously. "You go back to shore—you're going to get sick."

"I am plenty capable of getting it myself, Potter," she said, and made another move towards the basket—her head went under again, and she resurfaced quicker than before.

"Oh, I can see that," said Potter. "But I'll get it anyway."

He began to swim towards the basket and Lily wondered how he did not seem to be cold. She shivered once more and attempted to follow him.

"Why?" she said. "Is this some sort of prank? Let me guess, you're going to wait for me to get out of the water and then throw it back even farther?"

"Not a bad idea," murmured Potter. "But no. I'm just trying to be helpful."

She shook her head, though it seemed more like an extra large shiver. She waded farther towards him, defiant.

"I refuse to believe that James Potter would ever try to be helpful. You've got something up your sleeve."

He stopped swimming with a frustrated breath. "Then you'd best get out of the water and check my sleeves, Evans, because I left them on the shore." He swam on, and was very close to reaching the basket. He reached out, and—

And another great gust of wind came over them, blowing the basket even farther out into the centre of the lake.

He was beginning to seem annoyed, but he kept on.

"Oh, I can see right through you, Pot–t–t–ter," said Lily, her teeth chattering. "Make no mistake about that. I'm going to get out of here, and my robes are going to be gone, right? Black's taken them, hasn't he?"

"If he has, I didn't tell him to," said James, and Lily blamed the cold for her thinking of him as 'James'. Her head wasn't working right, right now.

"Go back to shore," he said again; "you're turning blue. I'd say it's nice-looking against your hair, but you'd think I was making fun of you."

He was probably right about that—she would think that. "Oh, honestly," she said. "I probably look like a flag or something, all red and blue." She was thankful that her hair would be hard-pressed to make a double-cross on her face, so she wouldn't look _too much _like a flag. She thought about this for a second, and then checked her reflection in the water—whew. He hadn't tried that.

"It's April Fools'," she said.

"I know," said James. "I just hung Snape up from his underwear in the Entrance Hall—that always let's me know if it's April Fools' or not."

"It's April Fools'," she said again. "Which makes me doubly sure that you've got something planned."

He let out a breath, reaching out and wishing that his arm was ten feet longer, probably.

"I don't have anything planned, Evans. I'm trying to _help you_, and I'll think twice about that next time, let me tell you."

Lily harrumphed, still unconvinced. However, she was far too cold to follow James any farther, and so just waded in place as best she could. He seemed grateful.

And then it hit her:

"I've got it!" she yelled to him. "You're going to try to make me go out with you!"

"I am?" he called back over his shoulder, nearly to the basket.

"Yes!" she said. "You are!"

"How am I going to get you to go out with me?" he called, appearing to be humouring her, but she wasn't really paying attention to that.

"You're going to hold my basket over my head until I agree!"

"I am?"

"Yes! Or you're going to threaten to leave me out here in the middle of the lake!"

"I am?" He had reached the basket and was now coming back towards her.

"Yes! Because right now I can't feel my body! And I can't stay afloat much longer! And you're going to let me drown unless I go out with you!"

"I am?" said James as he reached her; Lily almost thought she saw genuine concern on his face.

"Yes..." she said very softly, and as vehemently as she could. Her eyes slipped shut and James shook his head, and wrapped his free arm round her body. He began to pull her along with him. She was really very blue.

——

Ginny sat down by the lake. The soft sound of the water rippling from the wind was a welcome respite from OWL preparations.

She was very tired, and laid her head down on the grass. Her eyes drifted shut as the wind blew her hair into her face once again. The squiggles only surfaced beneath her eyelids for a moment before they transformed themselves into real shapes, into real people, into _them, _though she didn't really know who _them _was. That sounded wrong, but she didn't really care, because she was asleep.

Two people sitting by a lake, one black-haired the other red. They sat opposite each other on a blanket, with a basket between them.

Wind blows and the basket goes flying; the black-haired one, the boy, he reaches out and catches it before it flies out into the lake.

They laugh, and it feels good.

Others may be seated round them, but they may not be. Everything's blurry, except for them. Red and black on a blanket, a shapeless pattern, a subtle rainbow.

They look at each other and lean across the blanket towards each other as well.

They kiss, and it feels good.

Ginny opened her eyes and felt very small. She shivered despite unusually warm weather, and she noticed that there was no wind, all of a sudden, not the slightest wind at all.

"Two years, right?" said a voice behind Ginny, and she sat up quickly, suddenly, so that she was dizzy and saw squiggles in front of her eyes without even closing them.

Harry was seated next to her, his eyes closed, and his body relaxed.

"What?" she said, looking down upon him from beside him.

"Two years ago," he said, "we were both out here by the lake. Remember?"

"How could I forget?" she said, sitting cross-legged and looking out at the water.

"I dunno," said Harry. "That's kinda what I wanted to ask you."

"What?" she said again, looking back at him. His eyes were open now, and he was gazing at the sky, or at her, or at the sky behind her, or at her in front of the sky, or perhaps at nothing at all.

"You said you were forgetting. Forgetting what?"

Ginny could hardly believe that he remembered. It had been two years, after all. Two years _to the day._ It was probably the precise minute, but she hadn't looked at the time.

"Forgetting everything," she said. "You know, emptying my mind."

He smiled slightly. "No, I don't know. I'm not great at emptying my mind, remember?"

"Oh," she said. "Right."

Silence, and the wind remained silent as well, nonexistent, and not there.

"Does it work?" he asked, and she almost said 'what' once again.

"Sometimes," she said. "But not for ever. Just till you open your eyes."

"Could you teach me?" he said, half-joking. But of course, when one is half-joking, there is another half of them that wants what they are saying to be true.

Ginny shook her head. "No. And even if I could, I wouldn't."

"Why?" he said, sitting up now and looking at her directly. "Why not?"

"Because forgetting isn't always the best thing to do. I stopped, you know. Last year."

"Why?" he said. "Why would you stop? Didn't it help?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "It helped."

"Then why stop?"

She took a breath, and looked at the water. "Because I found something that works even better than forgetting. That helps even more."

"What?"

"Remembering."

——

Lily opened her eyes and felt very small. She felt as though she were six, and not the sixth-year that she was and had been for months. She always felt small when she was in the Hospital Wing—thinking this, she realised she _was _in the Hospital Wing—because the beds were made so big, to accommodate people of all sizes.

She also felt very small because her mind was not functioning precisely as it was supposed to. She _felt _as though she were six, remember, not as though she were six-year-old-sized.

She looked round the sterile room and the first thing she noticed was that she was not cold. She was wrapped in warm blanket upon warm blanket, and it felt very comfortable—perhaps 'comfy' was the more apt term.

She looked to her side and saw _him _there, saw James, just as she had known she would. How had she known? Perhaps she had been half-asleep for a time, and he had been speaking—perhaps she had dreamt of him being there. She would, if asked, fervently insist upon the former.

"You're awake," he said as soon as she glanced his way. He had been watching her.

"Why?" she said, and that was all she could say just then.

James smiled slightly, looking perplexed.

"Because you woke up," he said.

She shook her head, and pointed to him weakly, pulling a tightly wrapped arm from within the bundle of blankets.

"You. Why?" And he knew what she meant; he had known before, most likely, although if asked we would fervently deny anything of the sort.

He looked away from her, just up to the headboard and down to the footboard, just glancing for someplace to glance.

"I dunno," he said, and she knew that he really didn't.

She pointed to his sleeve. "Nothing," she said.

He grinned, and looked back at her. "No. Nothing up my sleeve."

She smiled at him very slightly, very tightly, as if just smiling to herself.

"How long?" she asked.

"A few hours," he said, "if you mean 'how long have I been asleep'." She shook her head. "A few days, then," he said, "if you mean 'how long do I have to stay here." She nodded.

"Madam Pomfrey said you have pneumonia. Something 'bout not charging off into a lake with nothing but a sweater and a skirt."

Her cheeks turned red, just slightly, but he noticed and grinned. "Hey! You're red. I've got to admit, that's even better-looking than blue. 'Cause it matches, you know?"

She rolled her eyes, and he spoke more seriously—slightly more, at least.

"She said the only way you were going back to the common room today was if they had a fondue—"

"Fondue?" Lily's head still felt frozen, and was not to be trusted, but she was sure she had heard correctly.

"You know, one of those sofas that's a bed—"

She laughed to herself, but it didn't really come out. "Futon," she corrected weakly, smiling slightly, her eyes closed slightly more than just slightly.

"Futon, fondue, what's the difference?"

Lily smiled slightly more, and pulled the covers up higher over her. "G'night," she said, and felt better in the morning.

James smiled slightly himself.

——

"Remembering?" repeated Harry.

"Yeah," said Ginny. "Sometimes remembering yesterday is better than pretending it never existed. I've never liked pretending."

"Yeah, you have," he said, and for a moment she thought that he meant something that he couldn't have possibly meant. "You used to like forgetting."

"Did I?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm confused, anyway. Just ignore everything I say from this point on."

She smirked. "Sure. Just so long as you don't say something particularly interesting."

Turned out, he didn't say anything else at all. But he seemed to feel better than he had when she had awoke. So did she, now she thought of it.

She wondered why he had come.

——

The first of April—the last one Lily would ever see at Hogwarts.

She walked to her spot, almost in a daze. Had she really come here only seven times? It seemed like so many more...and yet so many fewer, at the same time.

Sitting down with her picnic basket, Lily opened it and pulled out the blanket. It was tattered by now, and somewhat dirty on the bottom, because she hadn't put it in the wash—the House-elves washed things magically, and there was something inherently not magical about this day.

She sat down on the blanket, facing the lake, and began to empty out the picnic basket, removing the food and the tea and the—

A shadow fell over her and she forgot what else was in there. She knew that shadow, though when she thought about it she shouldn't have; she had never seen his _shadow _before, close up, had she?

"Happy Saturday," he said, walking round and sitting down on the other side of the blanket.

"Hello, James," Lily said, somewhat shocked. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't a guy come visit a picnicker on the nicest day of the week?"

"No," said Lily. "I still think you've got something up your sleeve."

"Honestly, Lils—"

"Don't call me Lils."

"Honestly, _Evans_, didn't we go over this whole thing last year?"

"I was sick in bed with something wrong in my head, last year, James," she said. "I can barely remember the day at all." This wasn't precisely true—the rest of the day was one of the most vivid memories she had.

"Oh, come on," he said. "Can't we just pretend that it's not April Fools' Day? I mean, it's not my fault stuff always seems to happen between us today of all days..."

"Oh, I'm sure," said Lily.

"I'm serious—"

"Oh, you better not be. If you used Polyjuice..."

"Will you just let me talk for a second?" said James, and for some reason Lily was silenced. "That's better."

He cleared his throat and suddenly the wind changed, and blew Lily's hair into her face, becoming a swirling halo of red. James laughed at the picture, and his own hair was anything but stationary.

When the wind calmed, James looked as though he was about to speak, but he didn't. Instead, he just grinned and closed his eyes very tight.

"What are you doing?" Lily asked.

"I'm trying to engrain that image into my mind. You look amazing with your hair like that. You should think about keeping it like that permanently."

Lily was afraid to ask what she actually looked like, and so she didn't.

"No thanks," she said.

They were silent again for a long time. James had opened his eyes and was looking out towards the water, and Lily was looking at James looking at the water.

"I've been wondering something, Evans," said James finally, still not looking at her. "I've been wondering something for a long time."

"What?" she asked.

"Why won't you go out with me?"

And Lily's expression instantly cooled, frowning and glaring at him.

"I should have known—"

"That's exactly what I want to know," he said. "Why do you always act like that when I  
ask you out? All...frowny, and stuff."

"'Frowny''s not a word," said Lily, though she felt almost as though she were changing the subject.

"So? You're trying to change the subject. I mean...we get on pretty well now, don't we? Why do you always act so weird when I ask you out?"

"Maybe it's because I _don't want to go out with you?_" said Lily, perhaps a bit less vehemently than she had hoped.

"And maybe not," he said. "I think you're afraid."

"Afraid? Afraid of what?"

"Afraid that I don't really fancy you."

"You fancy me?"

James laughed outright. "You're joking, right? I mean, I've lost count; _how _many times have I asked you out?"

"Seventy-three," said Lily without thinking, and she instantly regretted it.

"Aha!" said James.

"Aha! what?" said Lily.

"I dunno," said James, "but it seems like something that helps my case."

Lily didn't say anything else for a while, perhaps in fear of incriminating herself farther.

Finally she said what James thought of as one word, but was actually two words: "All right."

"Yes!" shouted James, louder than even Lily had expected, and she had expected quite a scene. He jumped up now and into the lake, not thinking, and began to swim around in circles in celebration.

"Get out before I change my mind," said Lily, unable to help laughing a little. "Before you catch pneumonia."

And he laughed and did come out and before she knew what was happening she was pinned to the blanket with a sandwich uncomfortably wedged beneath her back.

"James—" she began, but in a moment more she could not get out a word, as James had kissed her.

It wasn't a snog, but it silenced her for as long as a snog would have; in fact, it was one, short, chaste kiss, quite uncharacteristic of James Potter, and that was why she was so stunned. That, and this very strong and sudden feeling in her gut that she reckoned was the strongest and most sudden feeling she'd ever felt. She also didn't think it was the sandwich.

And it felt good.

"So when do you want to...do you want to...go out?" she asked after what seemed to be a very long time, noticing now that she was dripping wet along with him.

"How about now?"

"Now?" said Lily, shocked once more. "But where would we—"

"We'll go on a picnic," said James.

"We're already on a picnic."

"Convenient, isn't it?"

——

Ginny was going to go down to her spot today, just after breakfast, but she couldn't. She had to help plan the Muggle Picnic that some seventh-year had thought a good idea (some seventh-year Ginny suspected was named Hermione).

The planning was more like announcing, really, because all that the Gryffindors were doing was telling everyone else to bring a blanket and food down to the lake and to leave their wands behind. (And to wear as Muggle clothes as possible).

Ginny told a few Ravenclaws and considered it a job well done. She then went out to her spot, laid down, and closed her eyes, just like she had wanted to do since waking up. She had not even brought a blanket.

"You can lay on this if you want," said a voice from behind Ginny. She looked up to see Harry, holding a somewhat dirty, somewhat tattered blanket under his arm. "I found it during the summer, up in the attic at Privet Drive," he said. "I dunno why I brought it. Lucky I did, though, don't you think?"

Ginny started slightly at the blanket, and she didn't know why.

She stood now, and he opened the blanket. They both laid down on it, and closed their eyes.

Ginny found herself drifting off to sleep, and the squiggles disappeared to prove it. She couldn't remember her dream—it was all very blurry, just a blur of black and red, she reckoned.

When she woke up, she found herself on something soft, softer than the blanket and much softer than the grass. Opening her eyes, she was quite disoriented to see that she was facing down, and that she was facing Harry. Her mind took a moment to realise that she was atop Harry himself.

Rolling off quickly, she landed on the grass, and not the blanket as she had meant to—it hurt her arm, though she really didn't notice.

Harry awoke just as she hit the ground, and he had the oddest look on his face when he did so. He looked from the blanket beneath him, to Ginny, to the picnic basket, and then back again, perplexed.

"You hungry?" he said, and Ginny realised that she was; very much so.

"Yeah. You?"

He nodded and pulled the picnic basket that he had brought with him (Ginny hadn't noticed before) round to the middle of the blanket. Ginny shuffled back onto the fabric, and they began to eat sandwiches, which tasted better than Ginny reckoned they should have.

A wind suddenly blew, harder than Ginny had expected, and the picnic basket, now lighter than it had been, nearly flew away into the lake. Harry, however, made it quite clear that Quidditch playing was definitely doing him some good, by reaching out and catching it just in the nick of time.

He replaced the basket on the blanket, and the two of them looked at each other. Ginny felt as if it was the first time that had _really looked _at each other—perhaps they looked _into _each other, because Harry's soul appeared quite open to her, and she felt that hers was to him.

They just looked at each other for a long time, neither touching a sandwich, or anything else. And then, suddenly but quite expectedly, and without caring or even noticing whether there were others round them, Harry leaned toward Ginny and Ginny leaned towards Harry and they kissed.

And it felt good.

The rest of the day went on, and the two moved rather dazedly, always just by each other's side. Harry and Ginny were declared the winners of a three-legged race that they weren't even a part of (they were walking so closely together that the judges thought they were a team), and Harry won best-dressed Muggle without even trying to (apparently, very baggy things were 'in' in the Muggle world, Dumbledore had heard, and Dudley's clothes had won it for him all by themselves). They only actually willingly participated in thestralshoes (they were really horseshoes, but Ginny called them thestralshoes because she couldn't see where to throw them), and they lost that one horribly. And by sunset, Ron was attempting to grill on the barbeque that Luna had brought out of nowhere—Harry didn't want to know what the meat had started out as.

They helped clean up the place, too, after dinner. Little plastic cups filled with drinks that Ginny called fizzblies, paper plates that most everyone were trying to scrub with soap-and-water, and a whole load of picnic baskets that no one had any idea of what to do with.

But Harry and Ginny left their blanket there by the lake to the end, until everyone else had gone, including the sun. When they returned to it, the wind had blown it a way from where it had been, but they sat down on it just the same.

They laid down now, and looked at the lake, and watched the ripples and the splashes the squid made as it surfaced occasionally, and after a long time they both fell asleep.

Waking in the morning, Ginny wished that she could finish her dream. She was sure that she had had it before: it was about two people having a picnic, one black-haired and one red, and there was this feeling of utter bliss in that dream a feeling that Ginny did not want to relinquish to wakefulness.

Opening her eyes, Ginny could see that she didn't have to.

**_Finis _**

Author's Note (written for Sink into Your Eyes): I'd like to apologise for the fact that this took so long to go up. I've had it ready for what seems like forever, but I haven't had access to the Internet. My house's switching from dial-up to DSL, and for the longest time we didn't have _anything_, because the service was cancelled early. (I absolutely despise having a story all written and finished and being unable to receive reviews for it.) This has also greatly set back the posting of my Yesterday Sequence, which is a series of novel-lengths in case you haven't heard of them. Let me digress for a moment:

The first story in the Sequence—_Living inside Yesterday_—was quite plainly awful, in my opinion—far too boring and predictable and written with far too many errors. Not at all like the work I've posted for these challenges, not at all of this calibre, if I do say so myself. The second story—_Believe in Yesterday_—was better, I admit, especially towards the end. But the one I'm working on now...the third story...well, as JKR said, you always like the one you're working on best, but this is more than that. The third story in the Yesterday Sequence, _Yesterday's Tomorrow, _is _good_. I'm completely in love with it, and I'm sorry if I sound conceited but if you're an author and you've written something you truly loved, you'll understand. I believe that _YsT_ can almost stand alone, which is rare for the third fic in a series. Please read it. _Please_. If you, faithful reader, have followed my challenge entries—_Someone Important, Blood in the Moonlight, Christmas Present, The Saddest Little Valentine,_ and the one you just read—I have to say you will enjoy it. Or at least be intrigued by it. I hesitate to call it the best thing I've ever written—I got this same feeling, this same love, for _Blood in the Moonlight_—but trust me, it's worth the time.

You don't even need to read the first two first—they won't give you a true picture of the series, I promise. Read what's posted here, on SiYE of _Yesterday's Tomorrow_, and then go back if you want to. (I've got up through chapter nine written, but I haven't posted them yet; I'm posting chapter three right after this fic goes live, so it's probably already up now that you're reading this.)

Just...I really don't know how to say this without sounding dreadfully arrogant but I really feel you should read it. And please, _please, _PLEASE review. My biggest wish is for this thing to get on the Featured Stories section (when the challenge entries aren't up), so that more people can find it. This just seems important to me. Really.

Review this fic too, please. I've just realised that I've rambled on for five or six paragraphs about _nothing _related to the story you've just read. So now I will: I sincerely hope you enjoyed it, or more importantly, that it gave you joy. There's a difference, of course. It's different from my usual stuff, I think, as these Challenge Entries always are. (If you read one of my earliest stories, _What's Different from Cho? _and then read _The Saddest Little Valentine, _which is, quite elaborately, the same story if you think of it— minus the Zipperhead—you would never believe it was the by the same author.) This was actually pointed out by one of my reviewers on that fic (though not in so many words) Jaquelyne (it's great to see you've found me again, by the way—missed your insights).

And now I have officially rambled on for ever. Please review. See you next time.

Potter47


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